Page 18 of Razors & Ruin

I hiss through my teeth as I lower myself onto him. His pulse thrums in the full vein that ridges his shaft, and I feel a twinge of pain as my still-sore pussy stretches to accommodate him.

“I swear you got bigger,” I say, my voice strangled.

Sweeney responds with a firm thrust skyward, skewering me. I buck and almost fall off, but he catches me, and my shoulder barges Marianne, who swings wildly like a pendulum before me.

I slap her face, and the impact shifts some air inside her; she releases a mournful groan.

“You made her sad, treacle,” Sweeney says, his thumb on my clit again as he moves me. “Anything you want to say?”

My pussy is aflame with both agony and arousal. This escalated so quickly. What God would take me now when I let the Devil corrupt me so willingly?

Marianne’s doleful, dead eyes mock me even now. I punch her this time, and Sweeney roars with satisfaction as blood streams from the crumpled cartilage of her nose.

“I love it, Nellie. More.” He snatches my throat and draws back the other hand, cracking me over the ear, and I scream. “She thought she had something you didn’t? Never, my pet. Never!”

My ear is ringing, and through the tinny peal of sound, Sweeney’s rumbling laughter sounds like a thunderstorm. He grips my trachea like a vice, and my hands flail crazily, lashing at the dead woman again and again.

Sweeney’s cock surges and pounds, smashing relentlessly into my softness and hammering the deepest part of me into submission. The sounds of the slaps landing on Marianne’s jelly-like flesh are music to my ears, but as my hearing recovers, it’s Sweeney’s biting encouragement that throws me over the edge.

“Come for me, Nellie,” he growls, pushing himself onto his heels for leverage. “Fuck me into you. Tell this bitch what you think of her. Go on!”

“You cunt!” My eyes fly open, and I grab Marianne by her ears, shaking her. Her tongue lolls moronically from her mouth, and I tear at it, trying to pull it free.

“You dared to call me names! To say my Sweeney didn’t love me! Well, how’d you like me now? Skin off my back?” Her tongue rips away from her palate, and I toss it onto Sweeney’s chest. “What’s she got to say for herself, huh? What haveyougot to say?”

Sweeney’s eyes never leave mine. He sits up and draws my face to his, thrusting deep, his thumb still grinding hard on my clit.The points beneath his five fingers on my throat are livid with pain; if he releases me now, it’ll hurt more, and he knows it.

“You’re the one for me, Nellie, don’t you worry.” He shoves Marianne, sending her crashing into the wall along the chain track. “I don’t want anyone else. Now come for me.”

I lean back and surrender to his grip. I don’t care if he kills me now. I’ll go wherever the hereafter will put me, and if I have to burn for eternity, I’ll do it with his words in my ruined heart.

My climax crashes through me with a cathartic surge of exquisite agony. My muscles ripple over the length of Sweeney’s cock, and he pins me to him, flooding me with his release. Our fluids of life mingle with those of death, making a foul pool of filth beneath us.

He’s mine, and all I had to do was set loose my last bit of crazy to make it so.

Marianne’s corpse gives another exhalation, surprising us both, and Sweeney lets go of my neck. He helps me to my feet, and we straighten up, regarding the dead woman with interest and no small amount of amusement.

“She paid a hefty price for her nerve,” I say. “Shame, in a way. SIlly girl actually had a brain in her head.”

“Not any more.” Sweeney takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. “Now, my pet. You take a minute to recover. I’ll get a mop.”

10

Sweeney

The smell isn’t pleasant, but it’s not unbearable either—just metal and rot. Marianne’s skin comes away from her in long sheets, slick and pale, her woman’s body now so much meat.

Nellie hums while she works, the sound low and almost soothing, like a lullaby for the dead. I sit on a stool, my elbows on my knees, watching as her fingers, deft and delicate, peel the skin back from muscle and sinew.

It’s fascinating to see; I sure couldn’t do it. Not that my conscience would trouble me; it just lookstechnical. That butcher she married certainly believed in teaching her a few things.

“Do we need thewholehide?” Nellie wipes the back of her hand across her brow, streaking blood onto her pale forehead. "I measured up, and I think she's too small to do a proper job. Even if we stretched her out, the lot of her wouldn’t be enough to cover the whole chair."

She leans in closer, using the tip of her knife to pry a stubborn piece of flesh from Marianne’s ribcage, then looks back at me with that devilish gleam in her eye. "But a few pieces—ah, now, that’s another story. Little patches here and there. Maybe an armrest or the seat.”

“Whatever you want, treacle.” I regale her with a indulgent smile, and bright spots appear in her cheeks as though I’ve given her a valentine.

“Seems fitting, after all,” Nellie says, setting down her blade. “She owes us a favor. Giggling over her bloody gin like some flighty bird, thinking she could trifle with us.”

---